


No Rest for the Wicked

by redjaded (timeheist)



Series: Tales of Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6547012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/redjaded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric Tethras was drunk. In fact, everyone in their little motley crew was drunk. Everyone in the Hanged Man, near enough, was drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Rest for the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompts 'Describe the first time your OTP or OTF held hands' and 'Something Varric lied about, exaggerated or omitted from his stories about Hawke or the Inquisitor' at WritersofThedas.

“C’mon Hawke, I’m cutting you off…”

Varric Tethras was drunk. In fact, everyone in their little motley crew was drunk. Everyone in the  _ Hanged Man _ , near enough, was drunk. That was what victory did to a city, in Varric’s experience. Win a battle, hell, even win a fight and you had to celebrate, and considering Kirkwall had just turned away a Qunari invasion tonight was no exception.

Except there was one drunk in the tavern who wasn’t enjoying themselves. Varric knew drunks. There were happy drunks, like Merril, who had passed out in Anders’ lap a hour ago and was probably dreaming about daisy chains and kittens or something like that. And there were angry drunks like Fenris, who had a white-knuckled grip on the neck of his wine like a dog worrying at a bone, but his shoulders were a little bit less tight and at least he wasn’t drinking alone, again. Isabela had just waggled her hips at them all and sauntered off for another round of something with ‘wyvern’ in the name, Aveline had left early and the rest of the crew were dealing out the cards for another round of Wicked Grace. Amberley Hawke on the other hand...

She wasn't a paragon of virtue by any stretch of the word but she tended to stick to one or two beers a night and tonight, Varric had lost count at five. The usually cheerful woman with nearly as many quips as he had was uncommonly sullen, slurring what words she shared and forcing a smile onto her face whenever someone cracked a joke. He'd just told a particularly filthy one that he knew she loved to some onlooking admirers. Not a peep.

He forced himself to his feet with a weary sigh, stumbled just a little - he'd had quite a few beers himself - and rested his hand on Hawke's slender, freckled arm. She blinked down at him, clumsily raising an eyebrow, and then slowly shook her head.

"I'm fine, Varric. Can't a girl enjoy herself after..." The strawberry blond glanced around the room, counting all the eyes watching her. She hesitated, swallowing hard and then shooting him a broad, practiced grin. "After bringing down a tyrant? The people love me, Varric,” Amberley raised her half-filled mug to a small round of cheers from the still conscious regulars, “this is the life.”

"Not if she plans to walk home tonight.”

"Maybe I don't." Amberley snorted, pulling her arm away from Varric's and rising onto equally unsteady legs. “Who said anything about going home?”

“ _ Hawke _ .”

“What are you,” she half-sneered, folding her arms and looking down at Varric, “my  _ mother _ ?”

They were attracting attention, and not the good kind. A couple of their hangers-on were watching them, the barman was conspicuously wiping down the counter a metre or so away from them and the conversation at their usual table had trickled into silence since Varric’s announcement. He sighed, rolling down his shirt sleeves and lifting his coat from the back of his chair before jerking his head towards the door with his best Bartrand-stop-it voice.

“Well,  _ I’m  _ going to get some air. If anyone wants to get the stick out of their ass,” he looked Amberley in the eye, “they’re free to join me.”

He left the  _ Hanged Man  _ without waiting to see if  Hawke was following him. He’d never have admitted it, but it stung a little when he didn’t hear the door swing open a second time behind him. He supposed the rest of the group had decided to give him a little time to cool down. After all, he had mentioned he had another chapter of his latest serial to write this week, and he was usually the last person to tell someone when they’d had too much to drink. Maybe they were just leaving him to it; or maybe they were all too drunk to think much about it. Varric, being a writer, never had the luxury of turning his brain off like that, even after one too many.

The cold air hit him like a ton of bricks, and he could feel himself sobering up already. Worrying about Amberley was probably helping, too. Maybe a nice long walk with Bianca would give him the inspiration he needed to know what to do about her. The problem was, he wasn’t quite sure what was eating away at her. She was normally so energetic after a good, long fight; he’d figured out not long after they met that Hawke was one hell of an adrenaline junkie. He’d seen her disappear off to the Rose more than once after a long day of fighting brigands and earning her and Bethany’s place in Kirkwall’s bustling hive, and he’d even caught her sparring with Isabela once, the two sharing Rivaini and Ferelden techniques (and from Amberley’s gossip later on, a little bit more). So long as Hawke had something to do at the end of the day, her smile never seemed to falter.

Maybe that was it. There’d been a lot of hanging around after her duel with the Arishok, especially after all the running in circles that Amberley had been forced to do just to stay alive. They’d all been itching to help her, knuckles white with tension, but she’d been a sight to behold. Every time they managed to lose sight of her in the labyrinth of pillars she’d herald her return with a shower of blood, nimbly catching the Arishok in an exposed area before moving once again, making it harder and harder for the immense Qunari to keep track of his opponent. She might have made it look like an art form, but the lithe woman had been soaked with sweat and blood by the end of the battle, and it had been hard to miss the way she limped away, favouring her left leg, and the way she had flinched when Fenris bumped her shoulder going into the tavern.

“Varric, wait!”

The dwarf stopped walking, turning to face the insufferable woman herself, interrupting his thoughts. Well, he certainly hadn’t expected her to take him up on his offer of a walk. Hawke was usually the last person to leave the  _ Hanged Man  _ and he wasn’t quite sure why he’d thought she’d listen to him trying to-

“I’m sorry.”

Varric blinked, crossing his arms over his chest as a lazy smirk spread across his face.

“I’m sorry Bright Eyes, could you say that again?” He raised an eyebrow, forcing himself to remain where he was and to let Hawke close the gap between them. “A little bit louder, this time.”

“Look…” Amberley ran a hand through the dishevelled braid slung over her shoulder, half-leaning on the city walls as she caught up to Varric, and it was all Varric could do to keep a straight face and not run over to help her. “Varric, I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t mention it.” The same smirk remained on Varric’s face but his jaw was firm, and he turned and started to walk again as Hawke fell into step beside him. He slowed his pace so she could keep up with him, kicking a pebble down the street and trying to put his own hurt feelings aside so he could get to the crux of what was wrong with Amberley. “Copper for your thoughts?”

The pair of friends walked in silence for a few minutes longer. Varric waited on an answer. With every step he took, and every moment of silence from the usually so talkative woman, he felt his temper fall away and his worry grow even stronger. He snuck a glance up at Amberley out of the corner of his eye, and his face fell. Her eyes were red from tears, her face unnaturally pale. She was shaking slightly as they walked, not just from her limp but also, Varric could tell, from trying to hold it together. He stopped suddenly, reaching out to grip her forearm, craning his neck to look her in the eye, and she slumped down the nearest wall with a choked-back sob.

“C’mon Hawke, talk to me…”

Shit, but he was completely out of his depth with crying. Anger he knew how to deal with but  _ tears _ ? 

“I killed him.”

“You kill bandits all the time, Bright Eyes.” Varric half-smiled, trying to encourage one of her usual laughs, or even a wry smile. Amberley simply shook her head, sitting on the surprisingly quiet street with her legs folded up like a concertina. She hugged her knees, shoulders still shuddering, and even Varric had to crouch to look her in the eye. “Hawke…?”

“You don’t  _ get  _ it…” She ran a hand through her hair again, and this time Varric noticed the blood underneath her nails and the bruising on her knuckles. Hadn’t the Arishok knocked her daggers out of her hands, once? It must’ve hurt more than he’d realised. Come to think of it, he’d thrown her against the wall pretty hard, too. They’d also sort of assumed Hawke bounced back from these sorts of things. Apparently, she did not. “Do you think I  _ wanted  _ to kill him?”

“Well,” Varric laughed, not quite sure what to say to that, “at the time you seemed pretty-”

“I seemed pretty intent on saving Isabela’s hide and not getting anyone else killed!” Amberley’s voice broke, her eyes flashing as she snapped at Varric. “Viscount Keep was a whole fucking mess and I didn’t want to have to  _ kill  _ anyone!” She took a deep, shuddering breath, and her voice fell quiet once again. “You had to respect him, you know? Not going to join the Qun myself but at least he had his shit together. Running a whole… whatever the Qun is can’t be a night at the Rose. After we helped with the gaatlok,” yes, Varric remembered that.  _ Help  _ was not the word he would have used, personally, but that was because he had a particularly dislike of being shouted at by way of gratitude, “I kinda hoped he’d just… go back to wherever they came from.” Amberley sighed. “Apparently I was wrong.”

“They had a bone to pick with Rivaini, Bright Eyes.” Varric sighed, squeezing her shoulder awkwardly as he sat down beside her and resting Bianca on the wall beside him. “Guys like that don’t give up without their prize.” He paused, looking up at the stars. It was a beautiful, clear night. Warm, too. You couldn’t have asked for a better night for a celebration and yet here he was, comforting the newly-crowned Champion of Kirkwall, sitting in the dirt. “Unless you were planning on giving Rivaini up - and between you and me, Hawke, you do a pretty bad job of hiding your feelings there - there’s nothing else you could’a done.”

“Why did it have to be  _ me _ ?”

“‘Cause no one else is great as we are!” Varric laughed, raising his voice despite himself and punching Amberley gently in the arm. “You think I’d hang around just anyone? Your life is literary  _ gold _ !”

“This is some - some  _ Hightown _ shit, Varric.” Hawke hiccuped, but sniffed, her tears beginning to slow and the start of a smile finally tugging at her lips. Varric hadn’t realised how much he wanted to see a smile on her face again, until now. “I’m just a refugee from Lothering.”

“And you did the best job you could.” He nodded, straining to put an arm around her shoulders. “Everyone’s cheering for you, Hawke.”

“What about the Qunari?” The blond cast an arm out in the direction of the harbour, “they’re hardly cheering.”

“Oh they’ll be back as soon as they lick their wounds, I’m sure.” Varric snorted. He hoped that their threat had been empty, but if the Qunari’s history with the Free Marches was anything to go by it probably wasn’t the last of them. He would’ve liked to say by then he’d be far away chugging a beer in the sun but when push came to shove Kirkwall was  _ his  _ city. And whether he liked being front and centre in its defence or not, he didn’t begrudge it a bit. Well, not much, anyway. “You can invite them over for tea and cakes at the Viscount’s expense next time, if it makes you feel better.” He paused. “Rivaini knows it better than I do but I bet there’ll be a new Arishok by next week. News travels fast. And besides you’re…” He snapped his fingers, “ _ basalit-an _ , or whatever. Look at it this way, he’d probably rather it was you that killed him than some random Guard.”

Hawke had gone quiet. Varric wondered if he’d talked too much, or said the wrong thing. The quiet was long and agonising, but after what felt like hours Amberley rested her head awkwardly on Varric’s shoulder and turned her head to give him a clumsy, still half-drunk kiss on the cheek. They sat for a little while longer, keeping each other in a companionable silence that was more pleasant than Varric could have expected. He and Amberley were thick as thieves. Everyone agreed. They laughed and joked and people sighed when they walked into rooms, wondering what sort of havoc was going to follow them. But Varric had never expected they could enjoy each other’s company like  _ this _ . They had sat until the sun started to rise and the sky began to turn a cosy shade of orange. The night could have gone on for hours.

It was Hawke who finally broke the silence, opening her eyes and rubbing dried tear stains from her freckles face. Her hand slowly slipped out of his. Varric didn’t remember reaching out to hold her hand in the first place. His felt almost… empty, now.. Hawke looked down at Varric, an expression he couldn’t read in her eyes and for a moment, even he was lost for words.

“What would I do without you, Varric?”

“How the hell should I know, Bright Eyes?” Varric paused, chuckling to himself.  _ Get over it _ ,  _ Varric. What could a woman like Hawke see in a guy like you?  _ He worked a kink out of his neck and rubbed the ache away, looking at the cobbles as he asked, “how are you feeling?”

Hawke shrugged, also stretching her limbs. “Like some sucker-punched me in the gut. Oh, wait!” She snapped her fingers. “That’s exactly what happened.” She smiled warmly, beginning to push herself to her feet. “I’ll be… fine.”

“Come on.” Varric got to his feet quicker, reaching out a hand to pull Amberley up after him. They kept holding hands, neither aware they were doing it. “We should get back to the  _ Hanged Man _ .”

“I thought I had a stick up my ass?” Hawke smirked.

“Oh, you do.” Varric nodded to himself as the two started walking back the way they had came. “But my place is closer than yours-”

“Is that so?” 

Varric ignored Hawke. “And do you  _ really _ want to go back to an empty house right now?” Amberley hummed affirmatively, and Varric smiled. “I thought not. Come on.”

If anyone had something to say when Varric and Amberley walked back into the  _ Hanged Man  _ hand in hand at the crack of dawn, they kept it to themselves. Varric was only slightly surprised to find half of the group still drinking and the tavern still swarming with people. Hawke stifled a yawn, and before anyone could say anything Varric led her quietly back to his room like a mother hen.

As the door shut behind them, Anders slipped a handful of coins into Isabela’s waiting, outstretched hand. The Rivaini woman smirked and lifted her rum to her lips, chuckling to herself.

“Called it.”


End file.
